Time is Broken
by Galad Estel
Summary: The lives of Amanda Grayson the young human wife of a Vulcan Ambassador, and Arwen Undómiel, an immortal Elf engaged to a mortal man, are switched leaving them stranded in another's world. How much do they change each other's lives and those around them.Will they ever return to what they once called home? And how did this happen in the first place?
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**  
_

_How lonely space stations can be, _Walter Hart thought. He shifted his position again and tried to keep his eyes open. He had not be able to sleep well that day, and the four and a half hours that he had spent already as night watchman were starting to wear on him despite the three cups of coffee he had downed earlier. Brushing a shock of strawberry blond hair from his high brow, he sighed and leaned against the wall. Everything was so still. The slight hum of machinery somewhere off in the distance was the only sound that lightened the halls of their crushing silence. He had no companion. Guarding this hall was a one-man job. This part of the station was far off from the central core and was mostly used as storage space though there was a minor observatory beyond the doors he stood to the right off. It was rarely used however as there were also observatories in levels above and below which were better equipped, but Hart was used to hard luck.

He was a middle child of a large family, and as he had neither wit nor beauty to speak in his favor, so he had been largely ignored. He grew into a sullen lad who enjoyed reading texts that others founds dull and had a habit of keeping all his things in perfect order. He had graduated from high school at age sixteen and had attended a science college for three years before a Starfleet recruiter saw him beating up a man twice as large as him and decided that he would be a wonderful candidate for the Academy. Hart spent five miserable years at the Academy. He failed Command. He blamed this on people not liking him, which was partially true, though it was also true that he lacked the charisma that was needed for an officer in that line. If that had not been a hard enough hit, he also barely passed Science, which he had always been good at in lower levels of education. He ended up switching to Security after consulting his advisor, though he did not really care for the division at all. Most of his fellow cadets seemed shallow to him, and he came across as overly stiff to them, so he had few friends. Those few he had had left him for posts on one ship or another, while he got stuck on a rather small space station, which came across to him as more of a pleasure house than an important branch of Starfleet.

Now at twenty-five, he had spent nearly a year on this station that he had hated from the beginning. He had filled out numerous transfer sheets, but there really was nothing Star Fleet could offer him at the time, or anytime as he was beginning to suspect. He was trapped. Trapped forever in this world that was not really a world, where he did not belong, and he hated it. Those were his basic thoughts that night along with the usual query about whether one of his friends would shoot him a message sometime soon. He glanced at his watch. Still another three hours to go. He yawned.

_Maybe, it would be better if I were dead_, he mused, leaning down and taking off his left boot. He thought he had felt something prick against his foot inside, but he could not find the culprit and thinking that he had imagined it out of boredom he started putting the shoe back on when suddenly he felt a darkness creep over him. The lights had grown a little dimmer but there was something beyond that, a feeling as if he was being touched by darkness, alone in a span of emptiness, and then he heard it. His heart beating, and another beat echoing it near by. This had happened before, several times actually. The first time he had been terrified and called security about it, but when they came to search the halls they found nothing. They had laughed at him and told him he must have been dreaming. He reported it a second time, but after that he had given up due to their disbelief, yet he had always run to the brightest part of the hall when the shadow made its encounter, but not tonight, he decided, not tonight.

"Who are you?" Hart demanded, and then after a pause, "what are you?"

Silence.

"Is there anything, anyone there?" Hart attempted, placing his hand on the hilt of his phaser.

The doors to the observatory opened and shut and then opened again and stayed opened, as if inviting him to come in. Hart hesitated then walked in, biting his lip slightly and keeping his hand on his phaser's handle. The computer on the main desk had turned itself on and there seemed to be text forming on the screen though it was too far for him to see what it said. He gasped and moved backwards towards the door, but a voice called after him. It was soft, almost childish, yet strong and penetrating in its plea.

"No, no, please, do not leave me."

Hart stared at the computer, paralyzed.

"Who are you?" he managed to inquire through baited breaths.

"I have been many things to many people."

Hart shook his head, hardly believing what he was hearing, but he cleared his throat, pulled his phaser out, and stalked warily towards the computer.

"No," he said, "I want direct answers."

"Over the years, I have had many names, but I was called Mairon at the first."

"Mairon, eh? And where do you come from, Mairon?"

There was a pause. Hart hardly allowed himself breath.

"I am from Arda."

"And where's that?"

"It…it is the planet that you come from."

"Terra?"

"Yes, what you have long called "earth" was once known as Arda, but that was long before your time, child."

"Oh?" Hart said rather offended, he did not generally like being called a "child", "so exactly how old are you?"

"I have not measured the length of years, though I recount many thousands…you see, Walter Hart, I am immortal."

"Immortal, ha! But how do you know my name? What are you some kind of telepath?"

"Yes."

There was another frightening silence.

"Is there something more that you wish to ask me?" Mairon asked sweetly.

"Yeah, what are you? And what are you doing on this station?" Hart said pulling together some courage. Whatever this creature was, it had not attacked him yet.

"I am a Maia, a spirit immortal who has lived through the ages of your world and has much wisdom and knowledge to impart on you if you will take it."

"I don't know. I don't know if I trust you. How did you come here?"

"I have for the last few millennia drifted across earth yearning, empty and alone, unable to speak to anyone. Then when Man started inventing things. I helped them with that. I was always good when it came to technology, but I never got the credit. I was forever wandering; never able to linger long, without form I could not stay in place, held forever in an endless void, longing to break free. Not long ago I ventured on turning my thoughts to space, and I came upon the same ship that bore you here, but even here I only drifted in silence about the station, fearing that others might fear my presence as you do now."

"Did you ever have a form?"

"Ah, yes, I most certainly did. Well, you would never believe it now, but I was once nearly lord of your world, have you ever heard of Atlantis?"

For a moment, Hart thought he could smell the sea, the stinging saltiness, and his forehead suddenly felt wet and cold. A picture formed in his mind of a harbor, where boats with massive sails lay waiting, for lofty men who stood on a white beach. He squirmed nervously in his service boots, forcing his voice to come out calm.

"Yes, of course. A mythical city that supposedly sank into the sea after conquering a lot of other countries or something like that…Plato mentioned it in one of his dialogues, why? What had this got to do with Atlantis?"

"I was on it when it sank," Mairon paused, and then continued slowly and steadily a word for every third heart beat, "Though we did not call it that. To us it was Númenor. The greatest land that ever was with towers high and fortresses strong. Our fleet was the proudest and most powerful in the world till it was swept beneath the waves. I stood within the Temple as the land was engulfed, not heeding the tearing water which seized and dragged me down, nor did I cry when the Sea pressed me under and robbed me of my flesh."

Hart choked and his skin paled.

"Are you…a ghost?"

Mairon was silent for a moment before answering.

"I do not think I would fall under that classification. Though I suppose the term might…"

Hart flipped open his communicator and moved towards the door.

"Please," Mairon cried in pitiful desperation, "do not call for them. They will not understand. Stay with me, please. I am so lonely. I have not talked with anyone for ages and ages. Do not leave me…not yet. I need you, and I, I could _help _you."

"Help me? Help me with what?"

"Anything, I would do anything. Just do not leave me. I…I love you."

Hart heard his communicator click shut.

"You love me?" he snorted, "you do not even know me."

"I know your heart, your mind," Mairon whispered quickly, "I have been watching you for days. I am sorry if this troubles you. I was so lonely, and you seemed to be too and so sad, but no one noticed. You ate alone. You drank alone, and no one cared."

"I am fine," Hart grumbled, "do not bother yourself about me. Just leave me alone. That is all I ever asked of anyone."

"You wish to be left alone?" the voice faltered as if speaking the words hurt its deranged soul, "I see. I shall follow your orders, but if there ever shall come a time…when I can be of any use to you, just call me, and I shall be there. Farewell."

The computer turned off; the shadow lifted, and all returned to normal.

"I do not understand," Hart thought out loud, "who was he?"

He looked around the observatory. The stars outside blinked at him tiredly, or perhaps it was his eyes that were closing. He yawned and stretched and looked warily around the room. He wondered how his phaser had returned to his belt since he did not remember replacing it, but otherwise everything seemed surprisingly normal: the desk still needed dusting, the light overhead shown down on the dull off white tiles of the floor, the burgundy and gold rug was still folded over slightly on one corner near the wall while half of the floor missed its covering, the papers on the side shelf still lay in half organized fashion, the telescope still held its peaceful course straight but a tad to the right.

Hart saw only one thing a tiny bit off. On the shelf to left side where equipment was stored, there stood a small glass angel that he had never noticed before. It had only one wing for the other had broken off, and it stood near the edge as if destined to fall again. Hart moved forward and lifted it up gently. He checked it thoroughly before setting it back down on the shelf, this time further from the edge. He sucked his breath in thinking what to do next. It dawned on him to check the security tapes, but as he viewed and reviewed the video of the last hour or so, he could see no sign of his visitor. He rewound them back further but still had no luck. Whatever he had encountered had eluded recordation.

"Perhaps it was a dream after all," Hart murmured out loud, though he had not remembered falling asleep or even waking up.

He paced the floor before returning to the shelf to retrieve the glass angel, holding it gingerly in his hand, caressing the one remaining wing with his little finger. The figurine was half blood red and half clear, odd and fragile. Hart sighed and brought his fingers into a loose fist around it. He could easily crush it against his palm, he mused, but he did not want to. Neither did he want to bring it to his arrogant, insensitive superiors. No, he thought, I will just keep this to myself. Keep what? He questioned. What is this thing? What does it want from me? Who is it…deep under the crust? He looked back at the computer and though his voice shook, he called out though it was hardly more than a whisper.

"Mairon, are you there still?"

There was one final moment of silence, of uncertainty, and then the screen flickered to life once more.

"Yes."


	2. Chapter 1: Lothlorien

_**Chapter One **_

_**Lothlórien **_

The stars did not shine that night, hidden as they were by the fog. Fireflies stole in to usurp their place in the sky. A soft rain pattered down on the broad leaves of the Mallorn, and music descended down from the trees, weaving its way from flute and Elven tongue, quenching the silence of the glade. In the distance, Nimrodel poured out the anguish of her heart, crashing endlessly against her banks until she met the Silverlode.

Another lover cried alone that night, but her screams were silent, her tears hidden by a veil of raven hair. Arwen, Elrond's daughter, passed through the mist, as if she were part of it, her silvery white mantle blending with the pale trunks of the Mallorn trees, her feet leaving no imprint on the wet grass. On the hill she paused, her face wavering like the wind-stroked leaves. _Here it was, that I first knew him,_ she thought and passed on. She could not explain why she felt such despair. Worries threaded one over the other in her mind, leaving her restless and without hope.

Wondering though the woods, she came upon a stream, and sitting beside the water, dropping leaves into the ripples, was the one she sought, the lady of the wood, Galadriel.

"Haruni," Arwen called, pain touching the edges of her voice.

"Yes, my child," Galadriel replied, answering only with her voice, her back still turned.

"Why do you flee from me?"

"I wish to be alone," came the answer, hard and still. Arwen knelt beside the grave lady and touched her shoulder longingly.

"But why?"

"I wish to think."

"Of what?"

"Many things."

"That is no answer."

"Arwen, why must you be curious?"

"You elude me," Arwen answered steadily, "I have not seen you since breakfast, and even then you were quiet."

"Do you already miss me after such brief hours," the lady said, speaking more to herself than to her granddaughter, then added, "I was thinking."

"Does it take the wise so long to think?"

"Sometimes it takes us days to ponder all aspects of the world."

"Well, what is it you are thinking of now?"

"Now? I am not certain. Someone so kindly interrupted me. I cannot recall," Galadriel replied turning to her now and studying her with keen blue eyes.

"Your thoughts are quite fragile, if they can be torn apart so easily," Her granddaughter countered coolly.

"Ah, your stubbornness could only be matched by your mother's, bur you are troubled."

"Have I right to be?"

"Can one be denied a feeling?"

"Do not toy with me," anger melted into Arwen's voice, "you, who have always known my heart, tell me. Is he in danger? Do I have reason to worry?"

The lady sighed, and she rested her chin in her palm, closing her eyes.

"Your father sends word," she finally answered.

Arwen tensed.

"What does he say?"

"He wants you to go home."

"Why? What has happened?"

"He is your father, should he not wish to see you?"

"Perhaps, but he does not approve of my decision."

"That gives even more reason for you to see him. If he did not love you, he would not have forbidden you to take part in death."

"And yet you encouraged it."

"It was your fate. As it was the fate of Luthien, your foremother"

"And that is all that matters to you, whether something is someone's fate or not?"

"No," Galadriel said quickly, a fierce light gleaming in her eyes, "no. If I knew you were unhappy with him, I would not allow him within ten thousand leagues of you."

"But fate cannot be altered, or so you have taught me."

"Perhaps."

"You are hiding something from me. There is another reason he wishes me to return."

Galadriel frowned, and rising to her feet she looked eastward towards Mirkwood and Mordor.

"The shadow grows wider," she said, "and my power fades. In the mountains foul things breed again, and a black spirit rests in Dol Guldur. The pass between Lorien and Imladris will soon be far too treacherous to cross. Even now there is peril in that road."

"What would you advise?" Arwen asked.

Galadriel shook her head.

"If I were to advise you," she said. "my decision would be based on selfishness. I would have you here near me, where I could direct the path of your existence, but such things are too much for me to govern. You must make the choice."

"There is danger in both roads, for to leave may mean falling into the hands of enemies, but to remain could also mean death. I fear that Lothlórien will soon fall under siege."

"Then I have right to worry," Arwen intoned, "but tell me, where would fate lead me?"

"That I cannot say."

"Cannot or will not?"

Galadriel smiled sadly but again shook her head.

"Then you leave this decision entirely in my hands," the maiden said with a sigh.

The lady shrugged.

"I did not say that exactly, did I? Have I forbidden you to ask the counsel of your grandfather, or that of the March wardens, or even of your silly, bright-eyed companions?"

"But you have removed yourself from it."

"Yes."

Arwen sighed, desiring a further explanation but fearing that a question might result in another spiraling long-winded stalemate. She tried to reason things out, smooth the wrinkles in her line of thought. To return to Imladris would mean to be once more with her father, to see the sadness in his clear grey eyes, to feel the heartbreak she was giving him. She knew she should not distance herself from him, especially not now when so soon they would part forever, and yet it seemed easier to try to forget him, try to forget everything, become thoroughly numb. If she could remain strong, she might lift some of the weight that had chanced so often to fall upon his shoulders, but perhaps her presence would only make him remember. Remember all those he had lost before.

"What is it like to die?" Arwen muttered.

"How should I know?" Galadriel countered, "I have never died. Ask Glorfindel if you are interested, though I usually find him a loss on the topic. He is ever so vague. You would think being slain by a Balrog would have left a stronger impression, but, nay, he seems to remember little."

"Perhaps the pain was too great," Arwen suggested, her eyes full of thought, "and Ilúvatar was gracious enough to have it removed from his mind."

"I think not," the lady said stiffly, "Ilúvatar does not seem bothered by our pain. I suppose he believes it molds us into something better. I know naught."

"But, dying is nothing beside all the years of sorrow that have been laid on the Noldor. Brief bodily pain and a moment's emptiness fall short of the agony of years pining for something never reached."

"You speak of death in battle," Arwen sighed, "but I meant the death of the mortals, the slow decay."

"Ah!" Galadriel said and her face again shifted as if searching for another age of thought, "and I know this how? Do I appear to you a mortal?"

"No, but you know much of them."

"Yes, maybe, I do, though, your father knows more."

"My father will not speak of such things with me. It pains him."

"I suppose it would, his brother choosing that fate and now you. Do you love him?"

"My father? Of course, I do."

"I meant Aragorn."

"You know that for certainty as well."

"Yes, but I wanted you to say it."

Arwen shook her head, bewildered.

"Well, then," she said, "I love Aragorn. Are you happy?"

"Happy? Me? No, the question is whether you are happy with it."

"I believe it shifts," Arwen replied lips pressing together in irritation, "When I am with him, I am happy, but for years I have not seen him and without him near, I feel empty and miserable, as if I were torn in pieces."

"Indeed," Galadriel said, "than I think you have answered your own question."

"What question?"

"What it is like to die. For your death shall be as your life, with him you shall be content, without him you shall be miserable. It is a twisted fate, my love, but not unprecedented. Have you decided whether you shall go or stay?"

"Nay, I have not," Arwen said wondering how the conversation had come spiraling back so quickly, "if I were to leave, would you promise me, that I will see you again? Will, you remain in Lothlórien in safety?"

"No, my love," Galadriel said with a shake of her golden head, "I cannot promise you that. For too long have I let others fight for me, spilling blood for my protection, if there is another war, I shall fight."

Arwen's head sunk, and she sighed deeply.

"And if I were to stay?" she queried, a pleading look in her bright grey eyes.

"I would do the same."

So, Galadriel would fight again. There would be no way to dissuade her. She was of the House of Finwë.

Fore awhile, Arwen said nothing. Far off laughter blended with pooling rain. Trees danced in the warm wind. A minstrel sang sweetly to his love. Arwen sighed. The nearby stream was chortling with delight at its sudden expansion of body, distracting her thoughts.

"I will go then," she said finally, "I am of no use to you here, only a hindrance. I am no warrior. I will do better in Imladris, where I shall seek to gain soldiers for your war. I know how stubborn my father is when it comes to fighting."

Galadriel nodded.

"I'll see to your body guard," she said.


	3. Chapter 2: Vulcan

**Chapter Two**

**Vulcan**

The streets of ShiKahr were crowded, dusty, and hot. They were filled with merchants and off planet businessmen trying to make a profit. Whether you were looking for produce, clothing, electronics, or a new life, it was there, written out in the crisp, beautiful letters of Vulcan, or screamed out by noisy Terrans who littered the streets.

From his roofed balcony, Sarek watched the scene as it rolled out like a movie before his eyes. He was sitting on an elegant wooden chair whose back curved in a rendition of winged reptiles. His long fingers were clasped about a glass of red juice. A robe of thin blue linen touched with embroidery at the collar and hem hung loosely over the body, so the form could not be quite made out, but he was tall, broad shouldered, and had apple muscles in his arms. His dark brown eyes had fixed on his subject of interest: a young woman outlandishly dressed in a white tunic and bell-bottom jeans. In a rather unnerving way, he followed her every move, his face void of expression, only his eyes twitching ever so often, his lips opening to drink.

The girl, as he could call her, for she was but twenty and looked younger, meandered down the road, a large dark woven basket strung over one of her thin arms, pausing at different vendors to view their goods with the interest one might expect from a child. That eagerness in her soft blue eyes as the merchants unraveled satin or dealt in parsley could easily be mistaken for greed, but it was not the product she was interested in, for she bought little. Though he had told her, she could spend as much as she chose. No, it was not the goods but the conversation.

She always lingered in the Terran sections of the bazaar, he noted. Terran merchants talked more and smiles were exchanged, which were forbidden to Vulcans. It made him jealous and uneasy. True, she was an earthling herself, and as prone to emotions as the rest, which he had to admit (to himself) was one of the reasons he had been attracted to her. She was so different than anyone else he had met, amusing, explosive. But he had never really learned to trust humans, even if he was married to one.

Terrans were generally noisy, unsophisticated, unintelligent, and vulgar. Those had been his thoughts before he had met Amanda. They lied, were prone to violence, and carried on affairs with people they did not belong to. But she was human. She belonged with them. In order to thrive, she needed human company. It was only logical. It was how she was raised, and it circulated in every one of her blood vessels. And yet that only added to his unrest, his fear that he would one day loose her.

Laying his glass down on a small end table, which was dark and matched the chair, he stood up stretching. Amanda was moving further and further away. Even in a city, which rolled out easily in a grid like pattern, he would loose her soon, behind a curve or building. He suddenly feared he might never see her again. Unconsciously, he moved towards the railing as if it to call her back. Illogical, his thoughts commanded. If she had made up her mind to go it would take more than words to stop her. His mind began again its war. For on Vulcan wars are constrained to the mind, slowly demolishing the person inside.

"You should never have brought her here."

Sarek did not even have to turn to know who was. It was Paot's voice that spoke. Only he could have such a soft and biting voice. Paot, a great friend and a good advisor, stood frowning in the shadows of the doorway, his elegant features alarmed by his displeasure.

"I know that, Paot," Sarek said, "you told me that from the beginning."

"But you never listened."

"I heard everything you said, and I thought long on it."

"Not long enough. She will die, Sarek."

Amanda shimmered in the light of the sun. She was getting smaller and smaller, a human's vision would have failed at finding her, but he could make out her form. She was glowing, like an angel from so far away.

"And I will die." Sarek spoke the words firmly trying to end the argument. His endurance was waning. Everyone seemed displeased with his choice of mate: his parents, her parents, both worlds.

"Her life span is much shorter than yours."

"She is younger than I."

"And still she will most likely die long before you."

Amanda paused at a stall, and for one second she cast her eyes back towards him. Of course, she could not see him. He could not read her expression.

"Do you think that I do not know that?"

Amanda turned a bend, vanishing like a speck of light.

"You know, but you cannot understand."

"And you can?" Sarek stared at face of his advisor. Paot was only five year younger than him, but sometimes he acted like a child trying to play the part of father.

"You have ripped her away from friends and family, thrown her into a world where no one wanted her…"

_I wanted her. _The words formed angrily in Sarek's mind, but he said nothing.

"Sarek, your motivations were selfish. You may say what you like to T'Pau. Speak long lines of strenuous observations to excuse yourself. Speak of diplomacy. Cut up logic and paste it back together to make it fresh and authentic, but I will never trust any of it. I am sorry if I speak out of turn, Ambassador, but…"

"You are not."

Paot paused, before looking deep into Sarek's eyes and asking:

"Well, are you happy?"

"Happiness is illogical," Sarek said flatly. "I thought you of all people would now that, Paot."

"Perhaps, but I cannot see the logical in purposely inflicting pain on yourself and someone you care about."

"Do you think that is the only thing we have?"

"It's the only thing that this marriage will cause. It has not brought about more peace. In fact, it has inflamed the hearts of Terran racists against us even more."

"But the fault does not lie in the humans alone. Often it is the Vulcan who is prejudiced."

"It is not out of prejudice that I spoke against your marriage, but out of concern for you."

"Then your judgments are based on emotion."

"If you call a doctor's concern for a patient emotion, then I suppose you could transpose that to accuse me."

"You are no doctor."

"I am your advisor. It is duty to advise you."

"It is not your duty to advise me against actions that have already been taken."

Paot sighed.

"Well, I have nothing more to say then of that. I did not come up here ridicule you. I am sorry if that is what it seemed. Sometimes, my tongue just slips."

"Indeed."

Sarek pushed past the advisor into his bedchamber.

"I come from T'Pau," Paot said, following him, "she has decided to break her long held silence…"

"Indeed? That seems good tidings. Why do you frown, Paot?"

"She wants to know if you intend to take a second wife."

Sarek glanced about his room. The tall thin vases of red and blue. Beads of color covering one wall. Another wall was decorated with the photographs of his family with the occasional painted portrait. At the small tables and the low bed where he and his wife had been resting on just an hour ago, because the heat made Amanda tired. He could still trace the place where her small body had rested on the satiny green coverlet.

"Surely, she jests?"

"I know not. It is hard for anyone to read T'Pau. She said that it was important for you to have an heir while you were yet in the prime of your life. In case, you suffered from an ailment or were involved in accident."

Sarek cast a wounded look at the sun, before proceeding past Paot into his bedchamber.

"I have a wife already."

"But she is human, Sarek."

"What of it?"

"You know as well I do what that has to do with it. Vulcans and humans have crossed before, yes, but the blood does not work well together. The hybrids usually end up dying before birth, or if they manage to live end up deformed and retarded."

"But there have not been many cases to study…"

"Because almost all of the cases that have been studied ended in failure. Even if you were to have a child, it might not be able to have offspring of its own."

"Then I shall I leave no heir. The family can be continued from another branch…"

"You are your father's eldest son. It is essential that you bear offspring."

"Paot, do not make the problem larger than it is. Other males have been infertile."

"But you are not."

"I shall have no other wife, while Amanda lives. It would be unfair to her."

_It would break her heart. _

"T'Pau will not be happy to her that."

"Are you her servant or my advisor?"

"Ambassador, that is hardly _fair_."

Paot gave him a pleading look, which made him look thirty again; a young analyst who had wondered in accidentally while T'Pau and her counsel had been in session. Sarek had been there by his father's side at the time, as it was their house. They had met there for the first time, and there they had begun a tie that would extend close to brotherhood.

"You are dismissed," Sarek ordered.

For a moment, Paot looked like he might protest, but then his bent his head. He walked out. Sarek listened to his fading steps, as he sunk by degrees on to his bed. He gazed up at the woven wood ceiling and wondered if things would ever become less tangled than they were now, if he had been wrong in bringing Amanda here. He often speculated as to why she had come, what had made her abandon her world and her family to follow an alien man into a world where the sun burnt her skin and the air left her breathless. She had an inner driving strength, a passion he could not contain. Those blue eyes would look at the universe with hot defiance at its rules. What she thought she said. What she felt she acted. She was open book and a mystery, a living paradox. She had seized his hand and promised obedience, swearing to adapt a culture, which she could not bear. Bringing expletives and pet names to the raw Vulcan patterns of speech, slowly carving him into someone he did not know.

_**Author's Note: I am sorry there has not been much action in the last couple chapters. I shall try to put some in next chapter. Thanks for reading. **_


End file.
